


Something So Pleasant About That Place

by somethingnerdythiswaycomes



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2016-2017 NHL Season, AU where Latts plays for the kings, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dry Humping, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M, implied negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8835262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingnerdythiswaycomes/pseuds/somethingnerdythiswaycomes
Summary: Tom turns his head to look at Andre, sprawled out on the other bed dicking around on his phone.  “Hey, wanna fuck?”Andre glances at him, and rolls his eyes.  Tom doesn’t know if he should be offended by how not-surprised Andre is.Or: Andre and Tom have a 'List of Cities We’ve Fucked In'





	

**Author's Note:**

> thanks @ joelwards on tumblr for constantly feeding me horrible ideas.
> 
> I do not represent the real people presented as characters in this fic, nor do I make any claims about what they do or do not do in their private lives.

Winnipeg, MB - 49.8951° N, 97.1384° W

 

There’s nothing to do in Winnipeg.  It’s pretty much a proven fact.

“Hey,” Tom says, turning his head to look at Andre, sprawled out on the other bed dicking around on his phone.  “Hey, wanna fuck?”

Andre glances at him, his eyebrows up.  “What?”

Tom repeats himself, and Andre rolls his eyes.  Tom doesn’t know if he should be offended by how not-surprised Andre is.

But Tom’s horny – when isn’t he, really – and he and Latts used to do this all the time.  They’d have too much time between lunch and napping, or napping and pre-game prep, that they’d watch porn or jerk off together or trade blowjobs.

“Just because you haven’t been able to pick up girls doesn’t mean I’m having that problem,” Andre tells him, going back to his phone.

“Hey, fuck you.”

Andre snorts.  “Okay, Willy.”

Tom rolls off of his bed and crosses to Andre’s bed, crawling up onto it and straddling Andre’s hips.  Andre keeps staring at his phone.

“C’mon,” Tom croons, leaning over Andre, bracing himself with a hand on each side of Andre’s head.  “I know you want to.”

“And how would you know that?” Andre asks, but he’s still on his phone, holding it closer to his face.  Tom swears there’s a flush creeping up Andre’s cheeks.

Tom just hums and grinds against Andre, his own cock already half-hard just from anticipation.  Andre’s breath catches, but he doesn’t give in.  Tom leans down and drags his lips over the tendon in Andre’s neck, watching as his throat bobs with a swallow.

“C’mon,” Tom whispers.  He can feel Andre shiver under him, and a small thud as Andre drops his phone onto the pillow.  His hands fly to Tom’s hips, fingertips digging in.

“You’re the worst,” Andre declares, but then he’s ducking his head and kissing Tom, so Tom doesn’t bother arguing with him.  He just slips his tongue into Andre’s mouth, kissing him harder.

It’s Andre that tugs on Tom and grinds up against him, starting some approximation of a rhythm as he bucks up against Tom.  He can feel Andre getting hard, now, pressing against his sweats; Tom moans into Andre’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Andre gasps, tearing his mouth away, his head falling back onto the pillow.  Tom’s not one to turn down an opportunity, so he sets his teeth and tongue to Andre’s throat, drawing out a breathy moan from Andre.  Tom bucks against Andre when he hears it.

Andre’s a quiet dude, generally unflappable – until he gets really riled up, which he is now, apparently.  Tom preens at his success, until Andre jerks up against him and Tom’s the one groaning into Andre’s shoulder.

“Get these off,” Andre demands, tugging at the waistband of Tom’s shorts.

“Fuck, yeah,” Tom pants, rearing up to shove them down to his thighs, then setting to Andre’s sweats and pulling them down without fanfare.  Andre’s not wearing underwear.  Tom laughs.

“Shut up,” Andre says, wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking it.  “Not like I knew you were going to jump me.”

“Looks like you were hoping, though,” Tom replies, pulling his underwear down, too.

Andre just huffs and rubs his thumb over the head of his cock.  “You gonna do something or keep teasing me?”

Tom considers it for a moment, but he’s been hard enough long enough that he’s not trying to really draw this out.  This time.  So he presses against Andre again, grinding his bare cock against Andre’s stomach, where his t-shirt’s bunched up.

“Fuck,” Andre grunts.

“Yeah,” Tom pants, resting his forehead on Andre’s shoulder and working his hips faster.  He can feel Andre’s knuckles pressed into his hip, where he’s more just holding his cock than jerking it anymore.  “Andre…”

Andre knocks Tom’s head with his chin, and when Tom looks up, kisses him again.  Tom moans into his mouth, hips stuttering as a bolt laces down his spine.  Andre’s going for it now – licking into his mouth, nipping at his lips, clamping his teeth on Tom’s bottom lip and pulling back just enough that the sting feeds the fire in Tom’s belly.

It’s too easy to speed up, buck a little harder against him, and with a ragged moan that Andre swallows up, come across both their stomachs.  Andre whines, and comes, too, a moment later, trembling under Tom.

They’re still kissing.  Lazily, now, the gentle slide of their lips more sated.

“Fuck,” Tom sighs against Andre’s mouth.

Andre snickers.  “Yes, that’s what we did, Tom.”

Tom just groans and bites Andre’s lip in retaliation.  He lies there for another moment, until Andre nudges his hip.

“Heavy,” Andre complains.

Tom rolls his eyes and slides off of Andre, flopping onto his back next to him.

“That was good,” Tom says, combing his hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead.

“It’s because I’m the best,” Andre replies, his hand still on his cock, just gently petting it.

“4 out of 10,” Tom says easily.  He slaps Andre on the stomach, and pushes himself off the bed.  “Time to shower.”

“ _Four?!”_ Andre squawks.  Tom laughs all the way into the bathroom.

 

 

Buffalo, NY – 42.8864Е° N, 78.8784° W

 

There’s slightly more to be done in Buffalo, but when it’s cold and snowy and windy in the way that DC just doesn’t get that often or this early, Tom would rather be curled up in bed with Andre than out finding something to do for two hours.

Andre likes kissing.  A lot.  Today they’d been watching a movie, the usual, when Andre’d just straddled Tom’s lap and cupped his face and kissed him.  Tom had kissed back, of course, and now they’ve been there for – a while, Tom’s not really sure how long.  But his lips are tingling pleasantly, and Andre’s just starting to rock a little against him.  He smooths a hand down Andre’s back to his ass, squeezing once he gets there, coaxing Andre to rub a little harder against him.

Then Andre pulls back, tucking his face into the bend of Tom’s neck and sucking right on the spot under his jaw that makes him groan.

They both pause.  Andre murmurs against Tom’s skin, “We do this a lot, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Tom replies.

“Only on the road.”

Tom thinks for a moment, then, “Yeah.”

Andre looks at him, then, his hand curled around the back of Tom’s neck.  “Think we can get every road city?”

Tom laughs, but it tapers off when Andre doesn’t join in, just cocks a brow.  “Seriously?”

Andre grins.  “Of course.”

“So, what, just fuck every time we’re in a new city?  It’s not like it’s _hard_.”

Andre’s grin turns wicked, and he grinds his hips in a sinuous move on Tom’s half-hard cock, as if to say _but I know what_ is _hard._

“Sometimes we’re only there for a few hours,” Andre says, leaning in again and kissing Tom quickly.  “Next week, for the Islanders, we’re flying in the morning and flying back at night.”

Tom considers it.  That _would_ be a challenge, without a hotel room to escape to for the night.  They’d have to find a room at the arena, probably some scarcely used training room or storage space.  He thinks about it, pressing Andre against the wall and blowing them while their team’s walking around, awake and alert, just outside the door.

“Okay, yeah,” Tom says, jerking up against Andre.  “Yeah, we’ll cross ‘em off.”

Andre has that self-satisfied look on his face, so Tom’s only real course of action is to kiss him hard enough that he forgets about being smug.  By the way Andre’s moaning and rocking in Tom’s lap 30 seconds later, he thinks he does a pretty good job of it.

“C’mon, off,” Andre demands, tugging Tom’s t-shirt up to his armpits until Tom raised his arms and helped get it over his head.  Andre tosses it towards the other bed, his own shirt following a second after.

Somewhere in the middle of November, they graduated from handjobs and the occasional blowjob to fingering, and then to actual fucking.  Tom can’t say he regrets that, not when Andre will whine and hold him so tightly as he fucks him, or when Andre braces over him and bites his shoulders as he fucks Tom.

He carefully doesn’t think about how long it took him and Mike to get to that point, in their year and a half of roadie-fucking.

“Up,” Tom says, slapping Andre’s hip.  Andre grumbles, but he kneels up, tugging his sweats down as far as he can before wriggling around to pull them the rest of the way off.  He’s not wearing underwear again, and really, Tom should just get used to that.  And of course, Andre’s pulling Tom’s jeans off after, making a noise of frustration when his fingers find Tom’s boxers, and maybe Tom should follow Andre’s free-balling example.

“It’s almost as if you don’t want to fuck me,” Andre teases, squeezing Tom’s cock through his boxers, when Tom makes no move to help get them off.

“Fuck, Andre,” Tom groans, and shoves his boxers off his hips.  They bunch around his thighs, but it doesn’t matter, not when Andre’s reaching for the lube and slicking up his fingers.  Tom kisses him, his fingers twisting in Andre’s hair and tongue sweeping into his mouth, as Andre slips his fingers around and slides one in.  He gasps into Tom’s mouth, and Tom swallows it greedily.

Andre’s hot and solid in his lap, his chest brushing Tom’s when he leans forward to kiss him harder, to get his fingers in deeper.  But they fucked last night after the flight in – or, well, Tom sucked Andre off and slid a finger into him just before he came – so he shouldn’t need too much stretching.

Sure enough, a minute or two later, Andre’s breaking the kiss to grab a condom from the nightstand.  He passes it to Tom, and Tom rolls it on.

Andre kisses him again, lingering, sweet, before kneeling up and grabbing Tom’s cock by the base and sinking down onto it.  Tom groans against Andre’s lips, his hands flying to Andre’s hips and gripping tight.

“Tom,” Andre moans, his arms around Tom’s neck, fingers laced at the nape.

Tom bucks up; Andre grinds down against him.  It’s almost second nature, now, to read the curve of Andre’s back and the splay of his thighs and know he wants it slow and hard, to know how Andre’s going to move to make it good for him.

“Fuck,” Andre cries out when Tom thrusts into his prostate, his back bowing, shuddering in Tom’s grip.  “Fuck – _again –_ ”

“Yeah,” Tom pants, planting his feet on the bed and bracing his shoulders against the headboard to thrust up harder.  Andre’s lifting up and dropping back down onto Tom’s lap with increasing speed and force, his cock bobbing and slapping against his stomach.

Tom grit his teeth, holding Andre’s waist tight and thrusting up into him as hard as he could, meeting Andre thrust for thrust.

Andre sobs something – Tom thinks it might be his name, but that could be vanity talking – and comes all over both their stomachs, his ass clenching around Tom’s cock and pulling him over the edge, too.

Andre’s the more coherent of them after sex; he’s the one that works through his orgasm on Tom’s cock, then lifts off of him and, instead of spreading out on the bed like Tom desperately wants to do, takes the condom off of Tom’s cock and wanders into the bathroom.

“Towel?” Tom calls weakly, chest still rising and falling rapidly.  Andre comes back out, tossing a wet washcloth onto Tom’s stomach with a slap.  “Thanks.”  He wipes off his own stomach, and once Andre’s back on the bed, cleans him off, too.

Tom drifts then, eyes closed and his body curled around Andre’s, until Andre nudges him awake again.  Andre’s holding out a list to him – all 29 road cities, with a couple of them crossed off.

“We’ll have to wait to next season to get those first few,” Tom says fuzzily, thinking back to the western conference cities they’ve already visited.

“Hmm.”  Andre looks over the list again, his eyes narrowed.  “Maybe we should do tally marks instead.”

 

Newark, New Jersey – 40.7357° N, 74.1724° W

 

Somewhere in the last two months it started to mean more to Tom than just crossing cities off a list.

Like – of course it wasn’t just that at first.  He and Andre are friends, good friends, and then they were just good friends who boned, like him and Latts, even though things with Latts had been, from the start, fundamentally different.

But now there’s less of a difference.  His mind is just as likely to wander to the last time he fucked Andre, or Andre fucked him, when he’s jacking off as it is to turn to the last time Latts had sucked him off.  Both are thoughts he tries to force away, but the Andre memories are getting just as persistent as Latts’s have always been.

He can’t worry about that now, though, not when they have about 20 minutes until they’re leaving for the plane home and they still haven’t fucked in New Jersey.

“In here,” Andre says, tugging Tom by the wrist into an out-of-the-way storage room down the hall from the visitors’ dressing room.  As soon as Tom kicks the door shut behind them, Andre’s pressing him back into it, nipping at his lips.

There’s not much room in here, and most of it is taken up with skate pieces and random lightly-used gear.  The only real open space is this little patch by the door.

“Tom,” Andre mutters when he pulls back, before Tom grabs the back of his head and pulls him into another filthy kiss.  He bends his leg a bit, pressing his thigh against Andre’s cock.  It always sends a thrill of satisfaction down his spine to feel how hard Andre gets for him, and how fast it happens.

“Want me to blow you?” Tom pants.  Andre whines and nods, his mouth dragging over Tom’s cheek.

They shuffle around, Tom trying to get down to his knees with Andre leaning back against the door.  But his feet knock into a set of goalie pads before he’s even halfway down.

“Raincheck?” Tom asks ruefully.  Andre just grabs the shoulders of his t-shirt and pulls him up, hooking a leg around Tom’s hip instead.

“Get your hand on me,” Andre tells him, bucking against the cradle of Tom’s hips.  “Fuck, _Tom_ , please!”

“Shhh,” Tom murmurs, and slides his hand into Andre’s shorts, giving his cock a quick stroke.  Andre bites his lip, but his moan is still a little too loud.  Tom kisses him, claiming his mouth, to keep him quiet, and a little bit to feel every moan vibrating in Andre’s throat.

Andre comes fast, his hips twitching into Tom’s hand, his body arching between him and the door.  His head falls back with a thud, a throaty cry bursting out of him before Tom can do anything to stop it.  The sound of it – and the way Andre’s been rubbing against his cock – drives Tom close to the edge, close enough that all he needs to shove his hand into his shorts and brush his fingers down the length of his cock before he’s coming, too.

“Thank god we’re changing for the plane,” Tom pants, already despairing at the chilled, slimy feel of come in his briefs.

Andre hums, curling his fingers around the back of Tom’s neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads bump together.  Warmth floods Tom’s chest, flushing his cheeks, and he kisses Andre before Andre can see anything on his face.

 

Washington, DC – 38.9072° N, 77.0369° W

 

They don’t fuck in DC.  That’s the rule.

That had been the rule with Mike, too, until now.

Now, Tom’ll take what he can get, and if that is Mike naked in his bed in the apartment they used to share, then Tom isn’t going to complain.

He tries to focus on every moment, individually; Mike’s mouth around his cock, Mike’s fingers stretching him open, Mike drawing a line of kisses over his stomach, Mike’s hands gripping his hips, Mike’s cock sliding into him.  Mike gasping into his mouth.  Mike’s chest pressed to his.

“Mike,” Tom whines, his legs twitching up, knees pressing into Mike’s sides when Mike thrusts in just right, like he never forgot how to fuck Tom so perfectly.  “Mike – _fuck_!”

“Like that, Tommy?” Mike pants in his ear, his lips just barely brushing Tom’s skin.

“Yeah…”

Mike shifts, dropping Tom’s hips to the bed and draping over him, grabbing Tom’s hands and pressing them into the bed next to his head.  Like this, Mike’s more grinding in than thrusting, but he’s deep inside, and spread over top of him, and Tom can’t have a single thought that doesn’t tie back to Mike’s body pressed against him.

“You like that?” Mike thrusts in harder.

Tom cries out again, like Mike needs some sort of reassurance, like he could have forgotten how much Tom fucking loves this.

“You gonna come in me?” Tom pants, staring up at Mike’s face, right in front of his.

“Fuck,” Mike hisses, his hands squeezing Tom’s tighter.

“C’mon,” Tom moans, bucking up against Mike, as well as he can with Mike’s weight pressing him down.

“ _Tom_ ,” Mike groans, thrusts in again, and comes inside of Tom.

For a moment – just a moment – Tom wishes they didn’t use condoms.  It’s not possible, of course, not when Tom’s fucking Andre, too, and who knows what Andre’s getting up to when they’re not fucking on the road?  But there’s this sudden ache, to feel Mike completely bare against him, coming inside him and claiming him, even once Mike’s left again.

Mike pants against his neck, and kisses Tom again, still grinding into him, right up against his prostate, and when Mike sets his teeth into that spot right where his neck meets his shoulder, Tom shudders and comes.

Mike finally collapses against him, then, pulling out and dealing with the used condom.

“How long do we have again?” Tom asks quietly.

Mike glances at the alarm clock on Tom’s nightstand.  “Five hours.”

Tom hums.  “How many times do you think we can fuck before then?”

Mike huffs a laugh and rolls back on top of Tom, kissing his neck softly.  “We could just lie here instead.”

And, yeah, they could.  It would be wonderful if they did – just having Mike warm and naked and _here_.  But it gets a little too close to the warm feeling in his chest that he doesn’t want to deal with, not when he doesn’t have Mike for very long.

“Do you have our to-watch list?” Mike whispers into Tom’s neck.

Tom sweeps his hand down Mike’s back, lingering in the dip right above his ass.  “Yeah, it’s in my travel bag.  Side pocket.”

Mike levers up off of Tom; Tom misses him immediately.  But it’s not too bad, when he can see Mike naked and lit warmly by the bedside lamp, bending over and digging through Tom’s backpack.

He wolf-whistles, and Mike laughs sharply.  Just when Tom’s going to say something – crack some sort of joke – Mike freezes.  He straightens up, holding a piece of paper in his hand, and Tom wonders what’s so shocking about their Netflix watch-together list until he remembers what else he kept in that pocket.

“Mike—”

“What is this?” Mike asks softly.

Tom sits up.  He feels too naked for this conversation.

“Where we’ve played so far this season?” Tom suggests.

Mike brings the list back with him to the bed, his brow furrowed.  “Some of the places you’ve played aren’t crossed off.  And – tally marks?”

Tom wishes Andre hadn’t talked him into the tally marks.  Or that Andre never talked him into maintaining this fucking list in the first place.

He thinks of an excuse that might work – steaks eaten in each city – when Mike drops down onto the bed.

“Oh,” Mike says, curling the edge of the paper between his thumb and index finger.  “This is…”

“Mike.”  Tom puts his hand on Mike’s thigh, and kisses him when Mike turns to look at him.

“You’re keeping track of the girls you fuck on roadies,” Mike pulls back to say.

Tom purses his lips.  “Um.  Sort of?”

Mike laughs then, loud and unabashed, and it’s almost like old times.  Mike crawls up the bed and sits next to Tom, leaning against the headboard.

“You must be better at picking up now that you don’t have a sure thing traveling with you,” Mike chirps, looking over the list again.  “Three times in New York?  You’re not _that_ pretty.”

“It’s me and Andre,” Tom says, an abrupt calm welling up inside him.  Mike turns to him, but Tom keeps his eyes on the list.  “We’re keeping track of the cities we fuck in.”

Mike laughs, disbelieving.  “Seriously?”

Tom looks at him, then, but he can’t read anything in Mike’s face.  “Yeah, that’s what it is.”

There’s a pause, then Mike says, “Looks like you’ve still got a sure thing traveling with you.”

Tom snorts and leans his head on Mike’s shoulder.  Mike automatically drops his hand to Tom’s forearm, his thumb rubbing gently over his skin.  “Like you ever a sure thing.  Made me fuckin’ work for it.”

Mike’s thumb pauses, then starts again, rubbing over the line of bone under his skin.  “C’mon, Tommy.  You’ve always been able to tell how easy I am for you.”

Tom frowns.  “What’re you talking about?”

He almost expects Mike to laugh, but he doesn’t.  Mike rests his cheek on the top of Tom’s head, instead, and says quietly, “I’d do almost anything you want.  You have to have picked up on it.”

That startles a laugh out of Tom.  “Only if you’ve been able to tell that about me.”

Mike jerks back, then, and Tom _has_ to look up at him, then almost laughs again at the look of pure shock on Mike’s face.

“Seriously?” Mike demands.

“Uh, yeah, dude.”

“What the fuck, Tom.”

Tom’s about to shoot something back, already opened his mouth to do it, when Mike kisses him gently.  Tom curls into him, fitting himself into the curve of Mike’s body, and kisses him back.

“What about Andre?” Mike asks, pulling back a bit and resting his forehead against Tom’s.

Tom doesn’t know how to explain it to make Mike understand.  Something on his face must show it, because Mike just kisses him again.

 

Los Angeles, CA – 34.0522° N, 118.2437° W

 

Nothing changes with Andre, after Mike leaves.  They still get dinner or lunch when they’re in DC, spend nights sprawled out on Tom’s (objectively better) couch watching Netflix, and fuck when they’re on the road.

The only thing that’s different is that Tom tells Mike about it now, afterwards, when he can still feel the phantom of Andre’s fingers and mouth and cock.  He facetimes Mike as soon as he and Andre are apart, telling him about how he sucked Andre off, or Andre pressed him into the wall and jerked him off, how Andre fingered him open and fucked him in the shower.

They haven’t talked about what will happen when they get to LA.  Well, Tom and Andre don’t.

Mike and Tom talk about it _constantly_.  Sometimes, home in DC, when they skype, Mike’ll tell Tom about what he wants, when the Caps play the Kings.  How he’d spread Tom out on the bed and suck him off while Andre fucked him.  How he’d spread _Andre_ out on the bed and fuck _him_ while Andre fucked Tom.

Tom thinks about it every time he’s with Andre.  Thinks about suggesting it, maybe making a joke out of it.  Just to read how Andre reacts.  Just to see if, maybe, he can feel it, too.

“You’re gonna be hanging out with Latts, right?” Andre asks, spreading out on the spare bed in Tom’s room before their game in LA.

“Yeah,” Tom replies, foregoing his usual bed to climb up next to Andre.  “You want to come?”

“You mean to see Latts?”

“Yeah.”

Andre laughs.  “You’re kidding, right?”

Tom frowns.  “No.”

“But aren’t you two… dating?”

“Yeah, and?”

“I’ve guessed it’s – what is it – open, because _we_ haven’t stopped but you two don’t get much time together.  You don’t need me there for that.”

Tom rolls over to face Andre.  Andre was looking at him already, his eyebrows up.

“You guys want to fuck me,” Andre says with an immediate sort of clarity.  He starts laughing, then, rolling over onto his back and holding his stomach.  Tom tries to be offended, he really does, but that warm feeling is back and it takes everything he has to not roll on top of Andre and smother that laugh with a kiss.

“Yeah,” Tom replies simply.

Andre grins over at him, and Tom stops resisting.  He crawls over Andre and kisses him; a part of him relaxes when Andre kisses back.

But then they have to nap, and get ready for the game, and play the game, and during warmups Tom tries to make eye contact with Mike and nod, so Mike knows that Andre’s in.  That, somehow, Andre wants them, too.

Mike’s waiting for them outside the visitor’s locker room after the game, so Tom thinks he got the message.

“How _did_ you two get together?” Andre asks, when they’re safely inside Mike’s car.

Mike snorts.  Tom blushes.

“It’s something embarrassing, isn’t it?”  Andre sounds too gleeful about that, really, and Tom reaches into the backseat to smack his knee.

“I found your list,” Mike says, when they’re turning off the highway.  “The roadie fucking one.”

Andre laughs, and Tom smacks him again.  “That’s even better than I thought!  What, Tom’s fucking me and it makes you realize how you feel about him?”

“I always knew how I feel about him,” Mike replies.  Tom shoots him a smile.

“ _I_ didn’t know how you felt about me,” Tom says.

“We think maybe you feel a similar way, too,” Mike says, and pauses. “Similar to the way we feel about you, too.”

Andre’s jaw drops.  Tom doesn’t think he’s ever seen that happen in real life.

“You mean…?”

“We hadn’t quite gotten there,” Tom tells Mike sheepishly.  “We got distracted.”

“We’ll talk later,” Mike decides, just as they’re pulling up to his building.  “If you’re still all right with this, Andre, of course.”

“Of course I am,” Andre says, jumping out of the car as soon as it’s stopped.  “C’mon, you guys are too slow.”

Mike has to take charge again, just to get them up to his apartment, considering Tom and Andre have never been there before.

They find the bedroom easily enough, though.

Mike grabs Andre by the waist and the chin as soon as they’re in, pulling him close and kissing him hard.  Andre moans into his mouth and grabs hold of his shoulders, kissing back just as hard.  Tom lets out a breath.  He doesn’t think he’s seen anything more captivating than this, not in his entire lifetime.  It feels like he’s going to explode, ooze warmth all over the both of them, sink into a puddle on the ground.

“Tom,” Mike rasps, holding a hand out to him.  Tom takes it, steps closer, and falls into their arms.

It blurs together, after that, more hands than Tom’s used to skating over his back, curving around his hip, grabbing his ass and squeezing tight.  One of them – Mike – presses him into the bed, pulls his suit jacket off, before Mike and Andre are kissing again.  It’s Andre that pulls his tie and shirt off, and kisses him, and when he resurfaces from Andre’s tongue in his mouth and Mike’s ass in his hands, all of them are shirtless.

“Wanna fuck him?” Mike asks Andre, grabbing the lube from next to his pillow.

Andre pets Tom’s stomach.  “You should, this time.  You don’t get to see him that often.”

“‘m right here,” Tom manages to say, before Mike’s kissing him again and working his pants down.

Between one breath and the next, Mike’s fingers are inside him.  One, then two, then three, all in quick succession.

“Been having Andre fuck you a lot?” Mike asks, his lips pressed to Tom’s hip.

“Yeah, you know how much he likes it,” Andre says.  Tom reaches out and grabs his bare cock – when did Andre take his pants off? – as revenge, but the shocked moan and buck of Andre’s hips just makes him grin.

“Let me suck you,” Tom grunts, trying to pull Andre closer with clumsy hands.  Andre shuffles up and fists his cock, then holds it steady to press against Tom’s lips.

Tom only gets a moment to enjoy it – the weight of Andre’s cock in his mouth, Andre’s fingers gentle on his head – before he can feel Mike fucking into him.  He spreads his legs wider and Mike grabs his thighs, keeping his legs stretched out.

It’s only been a month, but Tom can feel something in him settle, having Mike here now.  Having Andre, too, the both of them enveloping him, the same way he’s pictured since Mike first brought it up.

Mike’s cock brushes his prostate; Tom bucks against him and moans; Andre’s fingers dig into Tom’s head and he fucks into his mouth.  Tom’s caught between them, caught exactly where he wants to be, full of such euphoria that he almost can’t distinguish when he actually comes.

He can tell, though, when Mike grinds into him and stays there, shaking above him, fingers digging bruises into his hips.  He can tell when Andre pulls back and pumps himself quickly, then comes over Tom’s throat with a deep moan.

Tom feels the steady burning in his chest when Mike cleans him off, and all three of them curl up in the center of Mike’s too-big bed.

“Wait,” Tom says, pushing at Andre’s shoulder.  “Where’s the list?”

Andre laughs, but he climbs back out of bed to dig the list out of Tom’s backpack, bringing it back to the bed.

“They’re almost all crossed off,” he says, showing the list to Mike.  Mike hums and snags a pen, hesitating for a moment before circling _Los Angeles_.

“For the cities with the three of us,” Mike says.  Tom looks at the list – at the cities crossed out, the tally marks next to some of them, the couple that are untouched, and the one circled.

“Talking?” Andre asks, just as Tom’s eyes slip shut.

“Morning,” Tom murmurs.

“All right,” Mike says warmly, curling closer.  Andre follows his lead, slinging an arm around the both of them.

Tom falls asleep like that, caught between them, the list on the pillow next to his head.

**Author's Note:**

> join me on tumblr @ somethingnerdythiswaycomes


End file.
